


Agents Provocative

by perlaret



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Betrayal, Falling for the Mark, M/M, Pining, Spies & Secret Agents, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 03:38:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12099885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perlaret/pseuds/perlaret
Summary: The dark rumors surrounding the Duke of Ren require investigation. That is where Poe Dameron steps in, determined to find the truth and bring justice to a traitor. Except then, the very man who may be his enemy might also be the person Poe wants most as an ally... or something more. (Regency AU.)





	Agents Provocative

Poe is grateful for the opportunity to catch up with Snap, the horrors and constant stress of the ongoing war for once far away and largely overpowered by the suffocating constraint of polite society, but it isn't enough to hold his attention when the crowd parts and he sees clearly across the expanse of the room. It's just in time to catch a glimpse of the Duke's face before he disappears through the outer doors, escaping into the dark outside. It's been three days, but Poe's heart clenches in his breast as the memories resurface at the sight of him. Perhaps it is too much to hope Ren isn't still angry.

“Commander, is all well?" Snap asks, craning his head in the direction Poe had looked.

"Ah, my apologies," Poe says, shaking himself free of his sudden regretful stupor. "I believe I caught sight of someone I have been meaning to speak with. I trust you won't find me rude for begging off?”

"Rude, sir?" he laughs. "Everyone would take me for a liar."

They part ways as amiably as Poe can manage while simultaneously concealing his hurry. It's only luck that allows him to gracefully dodge at least two other acquaintances that attempt to draw his eye before he makes it to the wide open doors that lead out onto the terrace overlooking the gardens. Light spills from the windows. There's a handful of partygoers out, taking what relief they can from the staleness indoors in the unseasonably warm evening air. None of them are the Duke of Ren.

Poe passes them by, descending the steps into the growing dark. There's still enough twilight to see by, though it will fade fast until the waxing moon fixes its place more firmly in the sky. He walks quickly, keeping his eyes sharp as he steps further into Lady Kanata's opulent gardens. The sounds of the party behind him wanes as he turns down a hedge-lined path, the foliage obstructing his view back to the house. He can imagine with great ease that, while largely abandoned now, the popularity of this part of the grounds will only increase as the night deepens.

"Where on earth did he go?" Poe breathes, casting about as the path before him branches into three different options. He looks skyward, as if the answer might descend on high. Instead, the moment of quiet allows the faint breeze to carry the sound of a cracking branch to reach his ears, followed by whisper of unintelligible conversation. Poe doesn't recognize the voice, but he takes his chances and takes the paved trail to his left.

He finds Ren. He does not find him alone.

Poe falls back several steps, letting the bushes conceal his presence as suspicion rears its head. Even after his conversation with the Dowager Duchess, his thoughts on Ren had been dominated by their stolen moments in the carriage – the heat of his hands through Poe's clothes, the bear of Ren's teeth on his neck – and the way his expression had crumbled from hurt into anger in the face of Poe's rejection. Now his true mission remembers its precedence.

"Do you conduct all of your business with such tardiness, Ren?" the stanger the Duke stands beside inquires, snide condescension dripping from his words.

"I wouldn't go so far to legitimatize these ongoings as 'business,'" Ren responds, and even from a distance Poe can recognize the disdain in his low voice. Poe cranes his neck as far as he dares, hoping the deepening shadows will conceal him. Ren's back is to him, wide shoulders mostly concealing his companion from view. All Poe can make out is the upper half of the man's face, eyes narrowed beneath a shock of ginger hair. His immediate impression is not a kind one.

"What grounds do you think you have to lecture me on legitimacy, My Lord Duke," he retorts, sarcasm palpable. Poe's neck prickles with unease in a way he wholly cannot help. Whatever could that mean? Nor is the surge of resentment at the man's rudeness easily stymied; rather, he wonders at Ren's tolerance of it.

Ren only scoffs dismissively. "I have considerably more ground on which to do so than you," he says. "Let us be done with this. I brought what is required of me."

"Let's see it then."

There is the distant rustle of the exchange being made and Poe curses the unhelpful angle of his vantage point. The object of their interest is wholly obscured by leafy branches and the broadness of Duke Ren’s body. Poe strains to see, careful not to misstep and make any noise that would give away his presence, but it is to no avail. He grits his teeth and weighs his options.

Whatever the nature of this business, it could be the key to unlocking every answer he was obligated to see. The weight of that settles heavy in Poe’s gut, reminding him of the severity of his mission.

He’s always been the man for the job, no matter the stakes, but as he catches the pale curve of Ren’s cheek in the dusky starlight, he finds himself at reluctant odds with the purposes on which he’d built his life’s foundations. On one hand, Poe thinks that he could stride forth just now and set aside all subterfuge. He could demand an explanation from the Duke and his strange acquaintance, have the truth of it once and for all.

But were he wrong...

Poe remembers again the crushing disappointment on Ren’s face. The vise around his chest constricts; he can’t risk being wrong. Not about this. About him.

“–t all seems to be in order.” There’s a distinct edge of disappointment to the stranger’s voice, and Poe only catches a glimpse of a small package being tucked into the man’s overcoat. Wrapped in plain brown paper, it is utterly unrecognizable and without distinction.

“Then we are done here,” Ren states.

“For now. Keep in mind, Ren, your perfunctory performance does not go unnoticed. Perhaps your personal attachments distract you from where your loyalties ought to lie these days?”

“You overreach, Hux. My _loyalties_ have already been secured, as you well know,” he says, and Poe’s nerves take an awful dive. “Now, leave. Before your unfortunate presence is further noted.”

“By your leave,” the man– Hux, Poe marks– sneers. He doesn’t even bother to affect the illusion of a bow before shouldering past the Duke. “Until next time, Ren.”

Cursing his own lack of foresight, Poe shrinks back into the shadows, holding his breath as Hux strides past, mere feet from his hiding place. Luck holds, and Poe is passed unnoticed. He commits the unfriendly, frowning profile of the redhead to memory, biding his time until Hux’s footsteps fade back into the night. The name seems passingly familiar, Poe thinks, staring in the way the suspicious man had vanished; he must put it to inquiry later. Until then... Poe turns back, worrying his lower lip between his teeth as he ponders his options.

A confrontation now, so close on the heels of this conversation, would do nothing but raise suspicion. To maintain his cover, Poe realizes he must delay the meeting. Relief wars with lingering disappointment.

The memory flares again; Poe’s mouth tingles with the phantom kisses of a likely traitor and the ache in his chest opens wider. Sending a glance back in the direction he’d last seen Duke Ren, he withdraws.

Fleeting sounds of music greet Poe as he makes back for the party on quiet feet. He picks his path by it, wary to retrace his steps exactly, or too closely to the path the Duke’s compatriot had taken.

In the end, it proves he may have been better served discarding that caution.

He passes beneath a trellis archway covered in ivy, turns away from the branch in the path that widens to an open space encompassing a small decorated fountain, and steps directly into the path of the very person Poe wishes least to see.

Poe exhales an exclamation and stops short before the looming figure. “Your Grace.” Shock delays him; he dips his head quickly into a bow to disguise his wince. “Good evening.”

Duke Ren stands tall and impassable, his upper lip curling.

“Commander Dameron,” he says, his jaw canting impatiently sideways as he chooses his words. What he decides on is markably unwelcoming. “What are _you_ doing out here?”

“Ah...” Something close to the truth seems simplest, and hopefully most believable. Poe raises his eyes to meet Ren’s gaze. “I saw you exit the gathering... I hoped to speak with you.”

“To speak with me,” Ren repeats. “I’m sure.” He waves his hand, his movements suffused with a curt dismissal completely at odds with how Poe remembers him last. But that, perhaps, was his own fault, for Poe had walked away and let the rain chase away the hot, clandestine touches they’d stolen together. “Tell me what you actually want,” Ren says, jaw clenched and voice icy.

Poe holds uneasily. Carefully, he asks, “What do you mean?”

Ren steps forward, eyes flashing and a furious tension straining through his body, pulling at the seams of his well-fashioned evening dress jacket. “I mean,” he snarls, “how _much_ do you want?”

His jaw drops into a dumbfounded gape. “What?!”

“I will not repeat myself again,” Ren says, sneering as he withdraws his wallet, unfolding it to the notes within. “What is the cost of your silence?”

Incredulousness overcomes the restraint of propriety and Poe all but leaps forward, all on the instinct to close his hands over Ren’s and stop him from withdrawing the money already pinched between his fingers. Even with the fabric of two pairs of gloves between them, the touch of Ren’s well-sized hands in his sends a inopportune thrill through Poe.

“Stop, please,” Poe says, the shake in his voice apparent to his own ears. Ren is frozen, the striking planes of his pale face pulled taut and suspicious. “It costs nothing. I don’t want money. I only wanted to speak.”

Ren jerks back, dislodging Poe’s grip. His hands fall into the empty air between them. “Don’t,” Ren demands, flushing with anger. “You’re out of your _place.”_

It’s a deliberately placed insult, meant to hurt and affront, and it does both. Silence hangs heavy and loaded, like the weight of too much snow on a sapling branch, threatening to crack and fall. Much like the weight of all that rests on Poe’s own shoulders, he thinks, struggling to reign in his own temper. Ren is spoiling for an argument, Poe can read the signs as easily as he can his own letters, and for the sake of his mission he can’t allow things to devolve to that point.

Nor, if he’s being honest with himself, can he allow it for his own sake.

The weight of that truth lodges in Poe’s throat. It matters too much, compromises far more. He has to swallow past it to speak, seeking an even tone. “It’s true, Your Grace. I can’t leave things as we left them.”

Ren looks aside, doubt and mistrust shadowing his features. It provokes an urgency in Poe that tends toward the unseemly, but that hardly matters against the prospect of losing the hope of resolving any of what now lies between them. So in spite of the Duke’s earlier reprisal, and the fact it flies in the face of so many years of deliberate secrecy and caution for the sake of his naval career, Poe deems the risk a worthy one. He reaches back out and finds Ren’s cheek with his fingertips.

“Look at me, Ben, please,” Poe whispers, his heart thundering traitorously in his breast. Ren’s lips part in what could be surprise or protest, his brows knitting furiously under the fall of his hair. Poe smooths his thumb over the line of Ren’s cheekbone, coaxing. Finally, Ren’s eyes turn back to him.

“What are you–?”

Poe cuts him off before he can turn accusing. “I’m sorry,” he says, firmly so as to brook no doubt. “I shouldn’t have left as I did.”

Confusion and apprehension vie for dominance across the Duke’s face and Poe can bear it no longer. He lifts his other hand, cradling Ren’s cheeks gently between his palms. The Duke’s expression wavers, the anger in the downward slants of his eyes and mouth melting into an aching stare, the same stare he’d worn when they’d last been this close. Except then, Poe had pulled away. This time, he pulls Ben down and meets him midway, rolling up on his toes.

It’s not quite like before. In the carriage, Ben had been lush and urgent in a way Poe had never expected of him, all heat and startling affection. In the shadows of the garden, they kiss like Poe had imagined before that night, with a slow, deliberate care that toes the line of trepidation. There’s a stab of regret at the possibility that it’s his own fault, but Poe sets it aside in favor of drawing Ben closer, letting his gloved fingers slip into Ben’s hair, finding the curve of his ear. If his Duke is unconvinced of Poe’s genuineness, then he must be all the more convincing.

“Ben,” he murmurs between them, and it’s nigh a plea, perhaps more of one than he meant it to be. The Duke, Ben, lets loose a shuddering breath, and Poe can feel the faint pressure of his hand grazing at his waist. It’s working, Poe thinks, and shoves away the thought like he would an intruder; Poe tilts his head and parts his lips, captures Ben’s mouth again with as much care and tenderness as he can muster. The feeling it musters is more valuable than any sum of money.

It is, beyond a doubt, more sentiment than any traitor or spy is due, even only a suspected one. But as Ben finally eases into his touch and curls an arm about his back, opening his mouth to Poe’s kiss, the sentiment that burns within Poe chases away all doubt and sets him alight.

Everything else recedes into the night, lying in wait for a later time.

**Author's Note:**

> Posted for KnightPilot Week 2017!


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